


Learning to go on

by id_ten_it



Series: Inktober [2]
Category: Ballet Shoes - Noel Streatfeild
Genre: ATA Air Transport Auxilary, Aeroplanes, Air Force, Airplanes, Gen, Inktober, Inktober 2020, Post-Canon, Prosthetic Limb, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_ten_it/pseuds/id_ten_it
Summary: Petrova and her fellow ATA pilot are spared an attack on an airfield, but that doesn't mean they don't know someone involved.(no mentions of violence, warfare, or injuries, and nobody is harmed.)
Series: Inktober [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003845
Kudos: 1





	Learning to go on

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Inktober prompt nr 4 (learn) from the alternative Inktober pompt list found [here](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/post/630712063324504064/we-are-doing-this-thing-yall-so-it-was), with thanks for the originator for doing the hard yards and providing a better alternative to the original.

“It’s that man again!” Jamie mock-swooned as the cheesy programme crackled into life and the door shut behind a slight dark figure. “You’ve made good time, ‘Trova.”  
“Tail wind. She was full when I got there, too.”  
“That’s good. Here you are.”  
Gratefully, Petrova accepted the cup of tea from her colleague, and curled up on a spare chair, letting the mundane jokes sweep over her. The Ministry of Aggravation and Mysteries did their usual job, and slowly she joined in the laughter with everyone else.

  
“C’mon.” Jamie took her cup when the programme was over, “You look done in. I’ll show you the way.” He put his arm around her, the left one – the one that still had its hand – and didn’t say anything when she leant back into it a little once they were outside the blackout curtain. “No news is good news?” He didn’t sound convinced.  
She didn’t feel convinced either, but she nodded along nonetheless. “I miss her.”  
“We all miss her. I haven’t had a cheery voice talking me in for a week now. It’s getting to feel like nobody wants old Jamie.”  
“Don’t be silly. We want you.” Petrova reached up and squeezed his hand, “I’d want you more if you knew if she wasn’t one of the casualties though.”  
“She’s a smart lass. She won’t have stayed once the bombs started dropping.”  
“She’s a brave lass. She won’t have left till they started dropping on her.”  
“She’s a kind lass.” Jamie countered smartly, “She won’t have run into danger. She knows we’re here.”

They stood in silence, listening for the drone of engines and watching a waning moon rise. “How are you so calm?” Petrova whispered. “I’m….I’m like this.”  
Jamie gripped her left shoulder briefly, his right elbow twitching awkwardly, a movement he hastily stopped when the metal of his hand made a jingling noise. “If I start to worry now, I’ll be nowt but an angry shell of a man when she turns up, and that’ll be no fun for either of us.” The older pilot shifted, though barely, unself-consciously straightening his cuff over the prosthetic. “Get some sleep. I’m sure there’s an early start tomorrow.”  
“Come and get some rest then.” Petrova countered, “or you’ll be no fun in the morning.”

Most of the airfield was enjoying a late start, so there was nobody to draw the wrong conclusions when a slight, dark-haired woman followed a slight, light-haired, one-handed man out of a bunk room and down to the mess. Neither looked as though they had found much to their satisfaction, but neither did they look acrimonious about it.  
On entering, Petrova went to obtain two mugs of strong sweet tea, and Jamie for two plates of scrambled powdered egg and toast. They sat with the ease of long-familiarity and attempted to make desultory conversation though neither were too concerned when the other broke it off at the sound of a brisk pair of RAF office shoes. “ATA?” barked the clerk, bypassing the table of ground crew with nary a glance.  
“Yessir.” Jamie’s face went the same careful blank Petrova had seen when they’d realised their communicator friend wasn’t manning the radio.  
“Telegram for you. Sign here please.” Jamie signed, the clerk nodded at them both, dropped a couple letters on Petrova’s side of the table, and resumed his brisk walk around the station. He had barely shut the door when Jamie pushed the thin paper across to his companion.

ALRIGHT STOP BOMB WAS DUD STOP LETTER TO FOLLOW ENDS

“Thank goodness.” Petrova breathed, clasping Jamie’s hand with unusual warmth, “thank goodness.”

As they walked back to uplift their bags and sort out their transport – Petrova a train, Jamie a Mosquito – she stopped. “You should tell her. She’s asked me twice about you and I you know. She wouldn’t do that if she didn’t care.”  
“I’m sorry, ‘Trova. I…you’re like my sister. How could anyone…”  
“That’s not the important bit. Deliver your reply to her letter in person. You’re not the first man to try and charm a woman by radio but I think you’re going to be more successful than most.” She laughed, but he set his jaw and straightened his shoulders.  
“Who? I’ll knock their block off.”  
“Don’t be silly” This time her laugh was genuine, “you can’t thrash a man with that hand of yours, you’ll kill him. It weighs about five pounds!” While he was still laughing, she shouldered her bag, “let me know how you get on.”  
“You’re a brick. I don’t deserve you.”  
“I know. Fair skies, Jamie.”  
“Fair skies, ‘Trova.”


End file.
